


Of a Sort

by hameru



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Delirium, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Role Reversal, Sickfic, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hameru/pseuds/hameru
Summary: “Is he any better?” Lance asks softly, the door sliding closed behind him. He shifts the bundle of extra blankets he’d gone to get. “Well he’s not calling me ‘Matt’ anymore,” Pidge exhales wearily, ruffling their fingers through Shiro’s sweaty hair. “I’m not sure he knows where he is though…”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted puking shiro and attentive lion cubs. but this is pretty boring tbh, i don't have enough time to deliver myself desirable whump. also a lazy ass. not too sure how well i grasp voltron either. blegh, i'll probs try experimenting again later.

“Is he any better?” Lance asks softly, the door sliding closed behind him. He shifts the bundle of extra blankets he’d gone to get.

“Well he’s not calling me ‘Matt’ anymore,” Pidge exhales wearily, ruffling their fingers through Shiro’s sweaty hair. “I’m not sure he knows where he is though…”

“He sure knows how to worry us when he wants to,” Hunk adds, sat at Shiro’s opposite side on the mattress and holding the designated vomit tub in his lap.

“And his temperature’s still through the roof,” Keith mutters, gaze dark with worry as he reviews the reading on this Altean symptom monitor.

Shiro blinks, groggily shifting his half-lidded gaze between the younger paladins. For a moment Lance hopes he might offer some input that actually sounds coherent, but he doesn’t say anything at all. He just closes his eyes again. He doesn’t look any better than when Lance left. If anything he looks worse, hue grayish under the crimson flush of fever scorching his cheeks.

Shiro’s been ill since this morning at least, though everybody seems to remember him being a tad sluggish yesterday. Keith checked on him when he didn’t show at the table and found him kneeled over a slurry puke pond in the corridor. Allura had carried him back to bed and helped assess his condition, but she still had to leave to the aquatic planet below to discuss an alliance with the tentacled folk who inhabited it.

She said she’d be back as soon as possible, worried crinkle creasing her forehead. She’d put it off if she could but this planet flourished with several important resources and its inhabitants, while willing to speak, were wary of outsiders. She had to placate them. There wasn’t much she could do for Shiro anyway. The pods weren’t designed to remedy viruses.

Coran had made some broth he suggested might help before accompanying her, but a very delirious Shiro hadn’t been interested or able. Now doesn’t seem any more likely, either…He’s still obviously out of it and he’s shivering nonstop.

Pidge reaches over to the nightstand to wring out the damp cloth again. They gently dab Shiro’s face, wiping the perspiration pooled in his upper lip. They rinse it again and sweep back his fringe, placing it on his broiling forehead.

“You guys wanna help me with these?” Lance asks, shifting to keep the bundle from slipping again. He’d grabbed both blankets from his bed and a thicker, plusher comforter Coran gave him.

Keith puts down the symptom monitor thing and sighs, taking a blanket. Pidge slides down from their post and takes another one. Keith goes to the end of the bed and throws it forward, smoothing the end of the blanket over the first cover while Hunk gently tucks the upper part around Shiro’s violently shaking frame.

Pidge follows suit and Lance splays the last one overtop. Hopefully Shiro won’t overheat under four layers. His fever’s already bordering on dangerous, but the chills are really doing their worst. His teeth are chattering, the clacking an unpleasant echo as his whole body trembles.

“Man, if we were back home, I’d take him to the hospital,” Lance admits, ducking his head and crawling on the mattress. He plops back next to Hunk.

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees. “That thing said he was dehydrated, right?” He turns to Keith.

“Yup,” Keith sighs, idly tinkering with said device that looks like some alien hot-glue gun. He sits on the edge of the bed next to Pidge and lays the back of his hand to Shiro’s cheek.

“We should try to get him to drink again,” says Hunk. “I know he’s really out of it but he’s not going to get better if we can’t get any fluids in him.”

“I don’t think it’s just the nausea,” Pidge hums thoughtfully. “It looked like he was having trouble swallowing, didn’t it?”

“Either way, he’s not keeping it down.” Lance tosses his hands up in defeat.

They share an uneasy silence, watching the rise and fall of Shiro’s chest. It does seem that the blankets have done something for the chills. He’s still shivering but it isn’t as violent. His teeth have stopped chattering.

“Maybe he will now,” Keith ventures tentatively. “It’s been a couple hours.”

The four paladins exchange looks and shrug. They might as well try. If Shiro’s already dehydrated they have to try sooner than later anyway. Pidge climbs off the bed to get a water pouch from the dresser.

“Shiro,” Hunk prompts clearly, gently jostling the ill man’s shoulder. “Shiro, can you get up for a minute?”

Shiro wakes up enough to startle, jerking his head with a confused sound. Hunk is quick to settle him with a soothing shush and Lance takes his hand with the faint hope it might help.

“You’re safe,” Hunk assures him. “We’re in the castle, remember?”

“Someone’s— Someone got captured,” Shiro slurs. His gaze darts wildly and he snaps up to a sit, nearly smashing skulls with hunk. The cloth drops to the bed. He sways immediately and nearly flops back before Keith offers a shoulder to keep him propped.

“Look, we’re all here,” Lance tells him in an unusually tender tone. “You’re just confused because you’re sick but everything’s okay.”

Shiro seems to process this, slumping tiredly. Pidge shifts back onto the bed with slow movements, careful not to do anything that might spook him. Shiro had been frantic in his delirium for a better part of the day and that wasn’t safe for anyone.

“Here’s some water,” they say, charily guiding the straw to his lips. “Try to have a few sips at least.”

Shiro pulls away and glowers blearily at the water pouch like it’s a puzzle he can’t quite piece together.

“You need it, Shiro,” Keith reinforces tiredly. “You haven’t kept any down in awhile.”

This seems to perk Shiro’s attention, for the better or worse. His gaze drifts around the room, brows slanting upward.

“What time’s it?”

“Time to drink water,” Pidge coaxes, wiggling the pouch in their hand.

For whatever reason, this sells. Shiro wraps his lips around the straw and takes several obliging sips, wincing when he swallows.

“Go back to your rooms,” he croaks when he’s finished. “S’just a cold. M’okay.”

The younger paladins trade looks.

“Uh…Hate to break it to you, but it’s definitely not a cold,” Hunk informs with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“It’s more like a stomach bug…in space. Space bug,” Lance decides.

“Don’t call it that,” Pidge argues, shuddering as a recent memory runs through their mind’s eye. “When I think ‘space bug’, I think about that super creepy centipede alien on that moon we went to.”

“Space plague?” he rectifies.

“None of us have gotten it,” Keith cuts in. “It’s not contagious enough to be a plague.”

“Spaceicitis?” Hunk offers.

“That just sounds weird.” Lance’s nose wrinkles.

“Space flu?” suggests Pidge.

The discussion is abruptly put to rest as Shiro wrenches upright, gagging. Hunk hurriedly gets the tub under his chin. Eyes glistening, Shiro hacks up the nominal amount of water he’d managed and some bilious foam.

Nothing else comes up but he continues dry retching, painfully struggling as his body strains to bring up what isn’t there. Keith rinses the cloth again and holds it to the nape of his neck, wincing when his fingers come in contact with the searing heat of his skin.

Shiro’s shoulders hitch, brow furrowed tight with obvious discomfort. There isn’t anything they can do but wait out the episode. Eventually he gets over it, panting like an overworked draft animal.

“You okay?” Lance asks.

“Mm…Space virus?” Shiro questions dubiously. It’s unclear if he recalls what the suggestion is in reference to.

“Alright. We’ll call it that.” Lance pats his arm with a sympathetic smile.

Pidge takes the tub from Hunk and scampers off to wash it out. Keith dunks the cloth back into the bowl as Shiro sinks back down, still trembling like a naked baby bird. His glassy gaze flits around the room. He makes a thin sound as he swallows, features twitching.

Hunk places a hand on his shoulder. “Shiro? Can we get you anything?”

Shiro fixes him with a hazy look. He squints like he’s trying to focus but it doesn’t amount to anything. If he did register the question at all, he must lose it; he closes his eyes without giving a reply. Hunk sits back. Keith presses the cloth back to Shiro’s forehead and if he feels it, he doesn’t stir.

When Pidge returns, it’s not just with a clean tub but an Altean card game that’s essentially an alien combination of go-fish and charades. There isn’t really anything else they can do for Shiro for the time being. All there’s left in to do is to keep on eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get worse. And then proceed to be helpless to do much even if he does get worse because the pods won’t fix this and there’s no ambulance to call in space.

So the younger paladins gather on the floor, save for Keith who immediately declares he’s not playing. Lance taunts him about being scared to lose and he takes the bait, ending up on the floor anyway. Hunk wins the first round. Pidge wins the next three. Shiro sleeps fitfully all the while and they take turns getting up to rinse the cloth.

Lance is bound and determined to break Pidge’s streak round four. He lets out a pitchy, offended screech when it’s actually Keith who accomplishes this. It’s very likely that it’s the screech that propels Shiro into sudden alarm. He’s up all at once, flinging himself out of the bed with wild eyes.

Tangled in the blankets, he’s headed straight for the floor. Hunk scrambles up and awkwardly catches him, grunting as he takes the brunt of his weight.

“Shiro, calm down!”

Shiro struggles sloppily, legs quaking while he whips his head back and forth, feverish eyes bright with panic. The motion is not well received by his turbulent stomach. A gag slips thick between his lips and a weak stream of bile follows suit, splashing the back of Hunk’s vest. He sputters harshly, wobbling against the yellow paladin.

“Whoa, Shiro,” Keith gets up and puts a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Druids,” Shiro babbles. “She’s dangerous. There’s druids.” He slumps further into Hunk, visibly spent.

“Right,” Hunk agrees, hoping to address Shiro’s delirious ramblings properly. “Okay. But you don’t have to worry about the druids right now. They’re not here.”

Keith helps steer him back to the bed. Shiro slides back to the mattress bonelessly, clearly down for the count no matter how urgent he’d been to get up and scramble off to…battle druids, possibly?

Pidge picks the blankets up from the floor and Lance helps smooth them out. Shiro is docile once more but he still seems uneasy, mouth lined taut and brows pinched together.

“You think you’re gonna be sick again, Shiro?” Lance asks, hovering ready over the tub.

“No, it’s not…” Shiro just shakes his head, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Are you ready for water?” Pidge tries hopefully.

“Probably not a good idea,” Keith cuts in, warily eyeing the wet stain on Hunk’s vest.

“He needs fluids,” Pidge stresses. “I sweat a lot, okay, I know sweat, and he’s sweating out a river. Not to mention he’s thrown up like half his body weight. if we can’t hydrate him he’s going to get worse.”

“But it’s not going to help when he just brings it right back up.” Keith sighs heavily, sounding far more apprehensive than argumentative.

“Why don’t we stick him in the cryopod?” Lance asks. “I know it won’t heal him but maybe it’ll bring his fever down.”

“Do any of us know how to work the pods?” Keith glances from face to face.

“I could probably figure it out,” Pidge says thoughtfully. “But I don’t know if I want to use him as a guinea pig when he’s this sick. What if it messes with his thermoregulation?”

“Alright. I have to get rid of this,” Hunk says, folding the soiled vest over his shoulder. “I could bring Coran’s broth when I come back. It’s supposed to be stomach-sensitive so maybe he’ll actually digest it.”

“Might as well try,” Lance says, casting a weary look back to the ill paladin. Hunk nods and slips out.

“I’m gonna get fresh water,” Pidge sighs out.

They take the bowl and follow Hunk. Keith sits on the edge of the mattress again, bowed forward like a wilted flower. Lance sits next to him and gives him a gentle nudge.

“You okay?”

“It’s scaring me,” Keith admits quietly. _“He’s_ scaring me.”

“Yeah,” murmurs Lance. “Me too.” He’d seen his younger siblings down for the count with bad flus and nasty fevers multiple times but he’s never seen anyone quite this sick. It’s especially unsettling that it’s Shiro, who normally seems like the most capable person on the team.

Keith shifts his gaze to Shiro and touches his shoulder. “Hey. Hunk’s getting you food.”

Shiro stirs, blinking. “Don’t know, the tubes…”

“What?” Keith asks.

“What?” Shiro returns, confusion unfurling on his sweaty face.

Whether the broth helps or not it’s going to be a long, long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, wow. 
> 
> this got waaaaaaay more attention than i thought it would. you guys commenting are all very nice and i appreciate it, i really do! but with that said, attention startles me. i'm kind of frightened of all of you. i'm not too good a writer. i love to read fanfics, but writing them? not often, okay. i'm just a weirdo who really likes vomit. well, whump and h/c in general, but especially vomit. this was nothing but an attempt at self-indulgence. 
> 
> considering it did get attention though, i'm going to continue it. a lot of you very kind, friendly people want more so i will give you more! i warn that it probably won't be very good because i am just some weirdo with odd tastes and not a writer, but there will be more nonetheless. i'm thinking this will probably be 3 or 4 chapters. 
> 
> so thank you all for your comments and kudos and patience! 
> 
> p.s. gratuitous shiro headcanons ahead.

“Something about tubes?” Keith prompts.

“So many,” Shiro almost moans. “Tubes and tubes and tubes…”

Keith glances to Lance and Lance just shrugs, equally lost. Shiro seems apprehensive again, trying to sit up. Lance moves to help him and then realizes just how bad Shiro’s paled. His complexion is gaunt and ghoulish.

“Crap!” Lance quickly whirls around, eyes searching for the tub.

“There!” Keith swiftly scoops it up from where it’s fallen on the floor just in time.

Shiro vomits up another weak stream of bile. The piddling amount slaps the plastic with a moist echo. This time there’s no dry retching but Shiro puffs like he just ran a marathon. He looks like he’s in pain.

“Here.” Keith tries to hand the tub off to Lance.

Lance steps back, head shaking. “You go clean it.”

“I’m not leaving him.” Keith narrows his eyes.

“It’s better if I stay,” Lance insists. “I have more experience with this than you. Brothers, sisters, cousins. Flu season is like this crappy annual holiday at my house.”

“We’re not at your house and he’s not your family,” Keith shoots back. “But he’s the closest I have to it so I’m not leaving him.”

“See, you’re too freaked about this!” Lance waves his hands for emphasis. “It’ll take like five minutes tops to rinse out the puke tub. But you’re all keyed up just about stepping out of the room. Heck, you haven’t been four feet away from him since you found him. You’re too on edge about this, you shouldn’t be alone with him.”

“You just admitted that you’re scared too, so—“

Shiro interrupts with a choked sound as another mouthful of bile spills from his lips. It dribbles onto his shirt before Keith can rush the tub to catch it. Nonetheless, the red paladin still provides. He holds it steady under Shiro’s chin in case he gets sick again.

“Damn, man,” Lance perches on the edge of the mattress and puts his hand to the small of Shiro’s back.

Sure enough, this time there’s an encore. Shiro coughs another mouthful into the tub and quivers uncomfortably. Pidge returns at that moment, bowl tucked into the crook of their arm.

“Again?” They ask with a tense frown.

Lance nods. Pidge sighs and sets the bowl down, wringing out the fresh water out of the cloth. They pass it to Lance and he presses it to the nape of Shiro’s neck. Keith keeps the tub hovering, waiting for him to be sick again. He _looks_ like he’s going to be sick again, face as ashen as winter ice. His throat bobs but after a few moments the only liquid that hits the tub is the sweat that drips off the tip of his nose. Keith withdraws.

“How you holding up, Shiro?” Pidge asks, teeth worrying at their bottom lip.

“S’the druids,” the other paladin replies fuzzily. His brow tightens.

“Aww man, are you back on that?” Lance gently pats his back. “Don’t worry about the druids. They left.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Doesn’t feel right…”

“You’re just sick,” Lance reassures him gently. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Kind of a big deal,” grunts Keith. Because feverish delirium and constant vomiting aren’t anything to scoff at and this is just about the worst place for it.

“Go clean that out,” Pidge tells him, eyes narrowed unhappily on the tub.

Keith tenses. Lance gets up before it can turn into an argument, slinking over and slipping it from his hands.

“I’ll do it. You guys change his shirt.” Lance makes his exit and Pidge looks over Shiro’s shirt, wincing when they pinpoint the wet spot.

Keith sidles to the storage wing in the wall and pulls it open, rifling through the available clothing.

“Anything that isn’t skin-tight?” Pidge asks, peeking over.

“Mm…This.” Keith comes up with a grayish t-shirt, probably the only of its kind in a drawer full of figure-hugging long sleeves.

“Good…So how do you want to, well, do this?” They gesture to Shiro.

“I guess we each take a side and just roll up his top.” Keith cups his neck and tips his head back. “I mean, I think that’s the way to do it…”

“He can’t do it himself,” Pidge says in a perturbed tone almost too quiet to hear. It’s as unsettling an observation as it is obvious.

“You get on his left,” Keith says, looking back to them. “You fit better.”

“I know that.” Pidge rolls their shoulders and climbs onto the bed, edging into place between Shiro’s left and the wall. They give him a rousing shake. Shiro jolts a little, calming when they pat his arm. “Sit up for a sec, okay?”

Keith perches to Shiro’s right and hovers a hand close to his back as he sits, readied to still him if he sinks down again. Shiro sways but stays in place. Keith gives him a second and then nods to Pidge, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Shiro jerks, a feeble whine of dissent leaving his lips.

“Don’t.”

“I promise we’re not perving on you, Shiro,” Pidge says with a pale attempt at lightness. “But your shirt is gross and it has to come off.”

“Don’t,” repeats Shiro, weakly shaking his head.

The door slides open and Hunk shuffles in.

“Broth’s ready,” Hunk announces, cocking his thumb back to indicate the bowl on the floating tray. It doesn’t take him long to piece together the situation on the bed and frown pulls at his mouth. “You guys need help with that?”

“Probably.” Keith deflates.

“Alright.” Apprehension shadowing the softness of his expression, Hunk squeezes in behind Keith to take the hem at Shiro’s back. Shiro squirms with another noise of dissent and attempts to shake them off, but he’s the furthest thing from coordinated and it’s 3 to 1. They wrestle the shirt off of him and the door slides open as Lance returns just in time to watch.

The tub echoes as it drops to the floor in unison with his jaw. Pidge gasps like they touched a hot stove. Keith gets right up from the bed, numbly flounders a couple steps back. Hunk freezes where he is, nearly getting partly dried bile on his hands as his fingers clench in the fabric of the shirt. Shiro hugs himself, curling in slightly as he tries to hide his scars but they’ve already seen.

Puckered tissue twists around his torso like a snake. The topography of his flesh is riddled with pink-white knolls and stars scrunched around small craters. Narrow, neater slashes pop up in between garish gouges and unmistakably resemble incisions. More of his skin is marred than not.

“Oh man,” Lance whispers. “That’s— That’s so…” He trails off with an audible swallow, bending to pick the tub up and groping right past it as he continues to stare.

“What did they do to you?” Keith gapes.

“Druids,” Shiro mumbles whether it was a rhetorical question or not. “S’the druids, it’s no good…”

“Alright.” Hunk tosses the soiled shirt on the floor. He spreads a hand between Shiro’s shoulder blades and slowly rubs. “Hey, you want to try to eat a little?” he encourages like horror doesn’t linger in the margins of his face. “It’s nice and light.”

Shiro tenses, letting out a shuddering breath. “Hurts…”

“What? Your stomach?” Hunk asks, voice still fleece-soft. It doesn’t receive a response. Shiro droops forward, eyelids fluttering. His arms stay tucked around his ravaged torso.

Hunk sighs, then sits back. “Let’s wipe him down while we’ve got his shirt off. He’s soaked in sweat.”

Pidge nods and scoots around Shiro to climb off the bed. They look almost as pale as he does. Lance makes his way over, thumbs tapping against the sides of the tub.

“Should I go find a towel or something?” he asks.

“No, I’ll just wring it out really good,” Hunk tells him.

And the cloth is already in his hands. Hunk is good at this; the whole care taking thing. Better than the rest of them are anyway. It seems to come naturally to him. He wrings the cloth out until it isn’t dripping and then tenderly sweeps it across Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro stirs at the touch, stiffening.

Pidge sits on the edge again and puts a hand to his cheek. “It’s okay. We’re just cleaning you up a little.”

Shiro blinks a couple times, slow. It seems to take a moment to process and then he slackens where he sits. Hunk mops up the sweat from Shiro’s back and Pidge gets up to give him more room. He scoots down and rinses the cloth again. Shiro flinches when it touches his clavicle.

“S’cold,” he mutters, faintly troubled.

“Sorry,” Hunk hums as he swipes the cloth down. “We’ll get you covered up again in a sec.”

“Kinda dizzy,” Shiro slurs lowly, like he’s talking to himself. “Might need to lie down…”

“You probably wouldn’t feel as dizzy if you ate something,” Lance chimes in, straining to sound hopeful.

Pidge begins this sideways pace of a sort in short strides. Their fingers keep drumming at the air, like they urge to be typing or clicking at something. Keith absently steps back to give them more room, eyes still wide like he’s in some kind of stupor. Hunk pulls him out of it, snapping his fingers and motioning him over.

“The shirt, Keith.”

“Yeah.” Keith swallows and walks around Pidge.

“C’mon, Shiro. Gonna need your arms for this.” Hunk gently pats his bicep.

Shiro shakes his head, hugging over his scars all the tighter. Hunk sighs deeply, shoulders slumping.

“Maybe let him go without it?” Pidge suggests. “He might be more comfortable without it getting all sweaty and sticking to him.”

“What about…?” Lance just gestures vaguely, hands flapping up and down. “He’s exposed.”

Keith flinches at that, angry breath hissed between his teeth.

“Why don’t we worry about that later?” Hunk throws out. “Just try to get him to eat now? Before that gets too cold.” He nods to the levitating tray.

“ _Can_ he eat right now?” Keith raises a skeptical brow.

Shiro contributes naught to the discussion. He’s somewhat conscious, keeping himself upright and arms tight around his midsection. But he’s not really involved with his consciousness so to speak, half-lidded gaze unfocused and unsettlingly _off_ look on his face. Pidge winds over and presses cursory knuckles to his cheek, the sides of his neck. Shiro barely reacts, just gives a little twitch when they get to his neck.

“He’s still on fire,” they note needlessly, words drenched in worry.

“What if the fever’s already melted his brain?” Lance frets. “He got creepy quiet just now. I’m starting to miss the druids.”

The mention of ‘druids’ gets a reaction. Shiro raises his head and nervously glances around.

“Hey, there he is,” Lance says. “…kind of.”

Hunk pats Shiro’s cheek, taking advantage of the fleeting alertness. “Shiro? We got you some broth. You really need to get something in your system, okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees thinly. “Think m’coming down with som'thing.”

“Got bad news for you, you’re already down with something pretty nasty,” Pidge reminds him sympathetically.

“Space virus, remember?” Lance prompts him.

Shiro shudders and it could just as well be a chill as a response. Keith passes Hunk the bowl. The yellow paladin didn’t bother to bring a spoon. He tips the bowl directly to Shiro’s lips, gingerly cupping the back of his neck.

“Sip nice and slow,” he murmurs.

Shiro obliges.


End file.
